6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Something isn’t right. I can feel it in my gut. I tilt my cards up, taking a quick look at them. If the next card is a five, I’ll have a straight. When I look up at Wendell, my instincts kick in. He seems too calm. I’ve known him all my life, and he has never been this calm when we play poker. But right now, he seems like he doesn’t have a care in the world, which unnerves me.
I easily secured a private poker game in my suite at the resort; their willingness to help was exceptional. Unable to resist my curiosity, I discreetly inquired about a particular employee’s whereabouts. Apparently, she’s taken the week off. It would explain why I haven’t seen her around.
After our rather loud run-in by the pool, I am more than thrilled at the prospect of not seeing her anytime soon. Our blowup was inevitable. I just didn’t expect it to happen like that. She let me have it, which wouldn’t be the first time, but she was so fucking mad. If anyone else spoke to me like that, I wouldn’t have stood for it, but I was at a loss for what to say to her.
Don’t choose this moment to start acting like a decent person.
Those words have been scraping the side of my gut, like someone is trying to get chewed gum out from the underside of a desk, since the moment she spat them at me. We’ve said worse to each other—I know I have—but that comment sent me into a tailspin. Am I really that fucking horrible to people? To her? I should let it roll off my back, let it fall into the toppling pile of insults that we’ve hurled at each other over the years, but I don’t. I let it settle and consume me.
I’ll run into her again, I know that much, but if I can stave off that certainty for a little longer, then I will. Because I’m not ready to face Monroe. Not when I suddenly care what she thinks of me. My stomach flutters at the thought before I shut it down immediately. Food poisoning is the only reason that happens. And I haven’t eaten anything out of the ordinary lately. I take a generous gulp of whisky, letting the burn from the alcohol kill off anything in the realm of a flutter.
My eyes remain trained on my glass as I picture just what Monroe would say to me if she were here, that fiery wit at the ready.
You’re so predictable. Whisky? Are you John Wayne or something?
She would definitely never let me hear the end of it, finding more things to mock me for. Maybe the way I dress or my bank account. She really does have a problem with those who have money. I rub a hand over my mouth, hiding my chuckle because that is exactly how it would go. The relentless teasing and the tense looks and how her lips curve into that cocky half smirk that I detest.
“Are your cards that good?” Nico’s voice breaks through and pulls me back. His eyebrows pinch, and he looks at me curiously.
“What?” My eyes flicker from my cards to his face.
“It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before. It’s actually kind of creepy.” My face settles comfortably into a frown. “So your cards must be good.”
Right. The game.
Wendell snorts, and I turn to him, glaring. He laughs harder and harder until he runs out of breath. It’s almost frantic.
“It’s not that funny.” I shake my head in disbelief. “And the reason you’ve never seen me smile is because I don’t smile in the presence of anyone who makes less than eight figures.” That seems to wipe their goofy smiles away.
Zoning out to the point of my employees noticing is reason enough to nip these fantasies of Monroe in the bud. I’m getting carried away, letting thoughts of Monroe and her lips distract me. I shouldn’t be thinking of her like that, or at all, but my mind seeks out the images like an addict, drinking them down like they are sweet, sweet poison.
One minute, those lips could hurl projectiles at me, and the next, they could be spit-slick and puffy after just being kissed. Or how full and plump they would look wrapped around my cock. It’s too easy for those pictures to blur together, muddling into something that makes my dick twitch to life in my slacks. Discreetly adjusting myself, I run a hand through my hair.
“Alden?” Wendell asks. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, earning a suspicious look from him. “It’s your turn.”
“Do you raise or call?” the dealer repeats.
“Raise,” I answer and toss three chips.
Wendell throws in six more chips, doubling the bet, and basically gives away his hand.
“So, that was her, huh?” Wendell whispers.
I stiffen. Does he know where my mind has been?
“What do you mean?”
With a nervous hand over his face, Karim goes through his usual routine: checking his cards, glancing at the dealer, and anxiously playing with his chips. He is an incredibly awful poker player, but we wanted to include him in our game. His movements make my head spin, so I look away.
“I mean…” he starts back again, rapping the table to signal to the dealer that he’s finished with his turn. “She wasn’t what you described at all, and she sure hates your guts.”
My stomach flips, knowing his words are the truth. Nico grumbles, throwing his cards down on the table. Fold . It’s the three of us left now. I take another sip of my drink, causing the ice in my glass to rattle. My only response to him is a grunt, and I throw my chips more aggressively than I need to.
“She doesn’t take his shit like the rest of us do. Gotta respect that,” Nico chimes in.
Great. Now everyone has an opinion.
“You know what the best accompaniment for poker is? Silence.”
Wendell shoots me a look, which I ignore. I am not in the mood to sort through the list of reasons my brief interaction with Monroe meant nothing. He’s reading into it more than he should. I’m working up a sweat from both the constant scrutiny of my so-called friends and the stifling heat.
“All right, we’re done,” Wendell chuckles.
Dramatically, the dealer reveals the cards one by one, pausing between each to heighten the suspense before flipping the last card. An ace. Crap . Wendell surges from his seat, knocking his chair over.
“Are you kidding me? Did I really just win that?”
I give him a clap on the back, standing to congratulate him. “You really did.”
He picks up the knocked-over chair because, of course, he does and circles the table. Nico punches his arm proudly. Karim jumps for joy, smacking into the table, and knocks his drink everywhere. I groan as a few stray drops spill onto my pants. Not again. But I power through my discontent.
“Nice job,” I say.
“This is crazy. I’m never this good at poker.”
“We didn’t even let you win this time, either,” Nico adds.
“Screw you.” Wendell flicks a card at Nico’s face, which he dodges. “I totally kicked your asses.”
“Soundly,” Karim says.
“How much was the pot, anyway?” Wendell asks.
We all turn to the dealer. “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”
Wendell’s eyes bulge, his mouth agape. “No, I can’t take that much from you guys. It’s too much. I wasn’t even paying attention to most of the game.”
“Wendell, it’s fine, really. You earned it.” I try to reason with him.
“He’s right. It’s all part of the fun.” Nico salutes him with his glass. “You take our money; we go back and make more of it. The circle of life.”
I scoff, but he’s right.
Wendell is quiet for a minute. “All right, if you insist.”
Each of us wires the amount that we owe, and as predicted, Nico makes a scene, groaning dramatically as he hits send on the transfer. Wendell takes out his phone, gawking at his inflated bank balance.
He’s beaming. “Thanks. This is more than enough for Violet’s wedding gift.”
I check my watch, signalling that it’s time for them to head out. “Okay, everyone out. I’m sick of looking at your faces.”
Wendell lingers behind as I usher the other two out. “You’re still planning on coming tonight, right?”
“Do I really have to, Wendell?”
He nods enthusiastically. “Yes. End of story.”
“Then, yes, I’ll be there.” I scratch my chin. “Go so I can get some sleep before tonight.”
He gives me another sharp nod before I close the door behind him. As soon as the door closes, my face falls. Tonight is going to be hell. I head into the bedroom to get out of the way of the staff who are starting their clean-up. Overwhelmed by tiredness, I collapse onto the plush comforter.
A club. A fucking nightclub is where they decide they want to go for the night. This trip is tragically spiralling into something I can’t control. We are all well into our thirties, but apparently, that doesn’t matter to anyone. They reassured me that the club caters to an older crowd, which made me feel a hundred times worse.
If there is anything that spikes my anxiety, it’s crowded places. Sweaty bodies pressing into each other, hands groping body parts. My throat tightens just thinking about it. Wendell urged me to join the rest of them, claiming a morale boost was in order after the other night.
By all accounts, he’s a traitor. He tried to get me to see how fun it could be, telling me how I needed to get out of my head and live sometimes. I guess his incessant begging has been successful, seeing as how I’m waiting in line with the other handful of people trying to get into the club on its opening night. This is just peachy.
The only reason we’ve even taken this business vacation, aside from the palm trees and cocktails that I promise my team each year, is because we’re here to nab an elusive client. One that I’ve been trying to sign since I started this company. Warren Humboldt has been shopping around for someone to handle his portfolio after firing his old manager, and I’ve been schmoozing him for months. It was perfect timing when I heard he’d also be at The Cerulean this summer.
“Alden? Can you look at me?” Charlotte whispers, tugging on my dress shirt.
My gaze is fixed upon her hand resting on my arm. She notices how hard I’m staring and removes it from my body.
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry for last night. I was drunk and upset that you were rejecting me. Again. I didn’t mean the things I said.”
She slips her hand around my arm once more, as if she’s completely forgotten everything I told her last night. And I can’t take it anymore.
I shrug her off. “You’re not forgiven, Charlotte. It isn’t just because of last night, and you know it.”
Charlotte looks stunned and a little offended. But she made her bed, and now she’s going to lie in it. Alone.
Sharp, constant pricks needle my skin every time someone new joins the heap of others trying to get into the club. The sensation bothers me enough to step out of line to gain some distance from everyone around me. My employees and Wendell look at me.
“I can’t do this. What’s the point of coming out if we don’t even make it into the club before midnight?” I bite out, rubbing my neck and feeling my pulse thrum erratically underneath my fingertips.
It is slowly reaching midnight, and we haven’t even seen the entrance of the club yet. Realistically, I know we’ve only been standing in line for twenty minutes, but my mind won’t accept it.
“It’s part of the fun,” Lucy chirps. Her eyes find each of us. “Back in Minnesota, waiting in line was just as exciting as getting into the club. My friends and I sometimes never even made it inside.”
An undercurrent of annoyance trickles in, agitating me even more. They would never make it into the club. And they wanted that.
My lips purse, nearing a scowl. “That’s something I could never understand.”
They could have simply left and not wasted their time standing in a never-ending line. Why would they purposely subject themselves to that when they could’ve been doing something more productive?
She shrugs and continues, “You would make friends with other people in line, bond over freezing your asses off, and end up getting pizza at two in the morning with complete strangers. Those are some of my best memories.”
“Well, at least it’s not cold,” Karim says.
I shoot him a bristling look, and he shifts under my stare. I’m less than thrilled with our current situation.
“This is the definition of insanity. I’m going to talk to the bouncer,” I announce.
The longer the line grows, the worse my headache gets, especially with everyone’s nonchalant attitude. I need to do something besides just stand around.
When I get to the front of the line and the bouncer, he looks me up and down.
“Can I help you?” the man, a giant compared to me, asks gruffly. Even though I’m rather tall by any unit of measurement, this guy is massive.
I smile, and I put my hand out for him to shake, but he doesn’t take it. He’s glaring at it like it insulted him. But that doesn’t deter me.
“I think you’ll find that if you do a quick Google search, you’ll see just who you’re keeping waiting out here.”
He steps toward me menacingly, and his bulging muscles jerk. “Huh?”
“Alden Van Doren.” I wait for his brain to catch up. “Just type in ‘A,’ and it should be the top search result.”
The man makes a rough noise, like he’s trying to protest. But he pulls out his phone anyway. I hold firm and wait until he looks back at me. Like I predicted, his eyes widen, and he does a double take. He doesn’t seem as intimidating now. I offer my hand again, and this time he takes it. I slip him a hundred-dollar bill.
“Come on in, Mr. Van Doren.”
I nod back and signal for Wendell and the rest of them to join me. They all shuffle past, patting me on the back and whopping as they enter. I lag behind, suddenly aware of what I have just done. The stench of sweat and alcohol turns my stomach, leaving me nauseous.
The bass of the music drums so loudly that I can’t hear myself think. I should leave, but I promised Wendell I would stay for at least thirty minutes. I look at my watch. The timer starts now.
I make myself as much at home as I can on the couch in the VIP section, which is nearly empty save for me. It overlooks the dance floor, the bar, practically every inch of the place. My plan is to stay planted in my spot the whole night.
Rich, vibrant purple light bathes the club, giving everyone a colourful silhouette. Winding metal stairs lead up to the private area where I am, and glass surrounds it, giving anyone who is up here a clear view of the dance floor. It doesn’t compare to the clubs in New York, but it’s fine. Lavish glass disco balls hang from the ceiling, and the light that reflects from them cuts diamonds onto the dance floor.
I don’t intend to stay for much longer before I leave, using my headache as an excuse to end this night early. There is a mass of people gathered on the dance floor, and the mere thought of squishing my body between them makes goose bumps rise on the surface of my skin.
What do people find so fascinating about a nightclub? Is it only an excuse to pick someone up? Surely, there has to be a better way.
My watch tells me that my allotted time is up, and it also means that nobody has refreshed my drink in twenty minutes. I’m itching for another one, needing something to help tamp down my rapid heartbeat. Standing from the couch with my empty glass, I move to the railing to gain a better vantage. I hope to spot someone who works here, but I can hardly pick out anyone in the massive crowd.
My eyes find Wendell and my group, and I watch as they dance with each other. They look like they’re having a good time. I also see Nico in the corner, chatting with a woman he’s likely planning to bring back to his room.
This is pointless.
I grind my teeth, frustrated that I have to venture to the main area of the club. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I look around and take a step, almost getting run over by a bridal party. The ruckus at the bar gets my attention, and I snort as I watch the scene. Everyone clambers for the bartender’s attention, probably demanding something quick and potent, like shots. My thoughts come to life when I see a guy that I vaguely recognize carrying a tray of them, weaving through the multitude of drunk people in his way, and presenting them to two women.
I squint, taking a closer look at the women, wondering who he’s trying to impress—only to be completely shocked by who I see. Monroe is one of the two women who are awaiting the shots.
Is there a place where this woman isn’t?
I want to look away, abandon my mission for another drink, but I don’t think I can. I am fully entranced by her. She downs shot after shot, laughing as if she’s the only one in the room, utterly free. It’s a far cry from how she looks around the resort, how she looks when she’s around me.
She’s all I can look at, and I selfishly drink it in. Monroe looks stunning in a black, shimmering dress that’s flawlessly painted on her body. Each curve hugged beautifully. It makes me want to run a hand over the material to see if it really is as form-fitting as it looks.
I shake my head, remembering that it’s Monroe that I’m thinking about like this. This is the same woman who recoils when I’m near her, the same woman who doesn’t back down from a fight, and she’s the same woman who’s making me harder than all hell right now. What is wrong with me lately? The flit between finding her maddening and wanting to bend her in half feels like I’m losing my mind.
Turning away, I take a step back and finally disengage from my gawking. I run a hand through my hair, pulling on it roughly. Wake up, you idiot. It must be the alcohol or how overheated I feel right now. That’s it. I’m just overheated—and delusional as well, it seems. I roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt, but the lingering, infuriating heat that clings to my skin doesn’t leave.
Through great effort, I finally get the attention of the bartender and tell him to send a bottle of whisky up to the private area. I don’t want to endure this torture for a second more. With a refreshed glass in hand, I make my way back upstairs. But someone knocks into me, and my drink spills all over me.
“Dammit—”
When my eyes catch on mesmerizing green orbs, I know exactly who I just ran into. And I’m furious. Monroe is flushed and laughing at me.
“You owe me more than just pants now,” I roar, trying to be heard over the music.
She steps toward me, still giggling, her eyes assessing the damage done to my shirt.
“It looks better like that, anyway. You’re welcome,” she says, cupping her hands over her mouth.
“I wasn’t going to say thank you!”
“No, you’re welcome!” There’s a duplicitous smirk on her face, and I know she heard me. She’s just trying to annoy me.
Monroe cocks her head, her eyes sweeping over me. She stares at me for a long moment. “God, you’re like a drowned rat. Come with me.”
I don’t react quickly enough, and before I know it, she grabs my hand and leads me through the crowd. We stop at the bathrooms. She knocks on two stalls, which seem to be locked, before going into the third. For a club bathroom, it’s relatively clean. By which I mean there’s only a minimal amount of vomit on the floor. Finally, I can actually hear myself think. The door locks behind me, and Monroe’s smile is gone from her face.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“You dragged me here,” I answer.
She shakes her head, and her heels clack toward the sink. “No. I mean here. At this club.”
Just then, I realize I’ve never seen Monroe with her hair down, but I like it. Her whole appearance, her whole energy is different. More unrestrained. More airy. More reckless . That shouldn’t appeal to me as much as it does. I force my eyes away, and then I feel it. Feel her. Beside me. Blood pulses in my eardrums in time with my heart. And I can’t think straight.
To relieve the tension, I run a hand over my face. “Team building.”
Her brows crease. “What?”
My answer does nothing to explain my situation, so I clarify. “My management team. We’re supposed to be bonding. But I don’t think I can stay here. This isn’t exactly an environment I thrive in.”
“Why did you come in the first place, then?” Monroe tugs some paper towel out of the dispenser and runs it under the tap.
She hands me the sopping pile of paper, maintaining her distance, and I take it from her.
“My best friend talked me into it.”
“They’re good at that, aren’t they? Convincing us to do something we normally wouldn’t.” I arch a brow, and Monroe goes on. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to be here. It’s my best friend’s birthday.”
I nod. “And you can’t leave.”
“Nope.”
I attempt to get the whisky out of my shirt, but I know it’s a lost cause. The shirt is ruined. I don’t understand why I’m still here, in this bathroom with Monroe, but it’s the highlight of my night so far.
“So, you’re not having a good time, then?” I ask.
She thinks about it. “I’m not not having a good time. But my friend, the one whose birthday it is, she has an ulterior motive. She’s trying to get me laid. Apparently, I’ve been teeming with unreleased tension.”
I swallow harshly. Jesus Christ.
Her eyes go wide. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll pretend you didn’t. For both our sakes.”
Monroe leans back against the sink, her fingers tapping against the porcelain. “Does that make you uncomfortable? Hearing me talk about sex?”
I glower at her. “No. I just can’t picture you doing it.”
“I’ve done it before. Just so you know.”
“Congratulations,” I deadpan.
She rolls her eyes, and I bite down on my lip.
“You should get back out there. Your friends are probably wondering where you are.”
Monroe doesn’t move. “Why don’t you leave first? I’m going to stay here a little longer. Get my ears to stop popping.”
I frown. “People saw us come in here together, no doubt someone who knows either of us. I don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea? What would that be?”
“I think you know.”
Laughing loudly, she says, “I’d rather be set on fire than sleep with you, so I think you’re safe from those rumours getting out.”
“It’s good to hear how strongly you feel about an imaginary situation.”
Monroe snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re insulted?”
“Not in the least.”
She remains where she is, her chest falling softly, but the rest of her is as stiff as a board. I don’t move a muscle.
“I think you are,” she taunts. “I think you’re hurt that I wouldn’t ever sleep with you.”
“You seem to be putting a lot more stock into this fake scenario than I am, Monroe. Maybe you’re the one who can’t stop imagining it.” She’s quiet for a long minute, and my mind stutters. “Are you?”
“No.” But I don’t miss the bob of her throat or the deepening colour on her chest. “And I think you’ve overstayed your welcome. Feel free to leave now.”
“So, I’m not allowed to be here?” I quip.
“You’re not allowed to be within striking distance of me. Or did you miss the part where you’re… you ?”
“And what am I?”
Monroe doesn’t miss a beat. “Someone who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as me.”
I could be offended by her comments, but it only makes me want to push her buttons more.
Tossing the paper towels, I shove my hands into my pockets. “Because I’m not a decent person, right?”
There’s something behind her eyes, something I can’t describe.
“Yes,” she grits out.
I cross my arms. “We should clarify your specifications on how close I can be to you. In case we ever find ourselves in this situation again.” I scratch my chin and watch her closely. “What counts as a reasonable striking distance?”
I take one step forward, and Monroe’s breathing quickens.
“I need to hear you count the steps for me, Monroe. So we can see where your limit is,” I rasp.
“Five…” Her voice quivers, her chest trembling.
This is worse than a bad idea. It’s imminent death.
Ignoring my gut, I take another step.
“Four…” Her tongue comes to swipe over her bottom lip, the tender flesh glittering and tantalizing.
Another step. Another brick tumbles from the wall. She doesn’t tell me to stop; she doesn’t tell me to back away from her. I see the conflict in her eyes, and I can’t tell which part of her will overrule the other.
“Three…” she breathes, her green eyes tracking my every movement.
I inch closer, and my heart beats so rapidly against my ribs I’m afraid they’ll shatter.
“Two…”
I’m close enough to breathe her in. She smells like cheap tequila and sweat, but somehow, it doesn’t set me on edge like I thought it would. It only ignites the growing flames that lap at my insides. Her body heat bounces between us, and my hands vibrate at my sides. I close the remaining distance between us until our breaths meld in the charged space. I don’t know how long we stand there, staring at each other.
“One…” she says so quietly I almost miss it.
Her lashes flutter, and I can’t take it anymore. But I don’t have the chance to act, because in the blink of an eye, Monroe’s lips are on mine and her chest presses against me. Lightning crackles under my skin, and I wrap an arm around her, wrenching her even closer. I pour every confused and hidden desire into the kiss.